


Eripio

by baby_worm, cowboykylo69



Series: Fructus Tenebris [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Attempting to write dialogue for olden times, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo takes care of you :), Mentions of Blood, Mutual Pining, Servant Reader, Vampire Kylo, angst (kinda), vampireau
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_worm/pseuds/baby_worm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylo69/pseuds/cowboykylo69
Summary: You have a bit of a run-in with a hunter in the garden. Gladly, Kylo is around to mediate.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Series: Fructus Tenebris [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971868
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Eripio

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! I'm SO excited that we get to share our first piece from Fructus Tenebris with you. This is a nonlinear series that Cowboy and I have been working on for a minute! We're really hyped on our own AU out here so it's a pleasure to share some of our work with you!  
> You can find us on tumblr @worm800 & @cowboy-kylo
> 
> worm xoxo

You strode, blade in hand, following the path molded on tender earth before you. The trail through botanical wildlife stretched and wound around trees and curved boulders to rest on, leading in and out of the crisp, stark shadows of the garden. Shrubbery smothered in sparks of white and pink petals, wavered in the same air that pushed the clouds in the sky, painting the land in sporadic patches of sweet, warm sunlight. 

Bees floated, bouncing from flower to flower, watching your blade, deliberate and gentle against the clustered stems of vibrantly colored forget-me-nots. 

Pollen and dandelion seeds swam through the air around you, mingling with gnats and bees, catching the light above you and the air you breathed. It sparkled like fairydust, ethereal in the sunlight, but it made you sneeze.

The sound of a twig snapping, so subtle, met your ears. It was distant, like the gentle pop of tall bark that settled and swayed with the wind. Your head swiveled, searching for movement, for the skip of tiny hooves and thumping paws. Did it come from above or below? Right or left?

A stealthy whistle whizzed indistinctly from somewhere behind you, and you faltered, hands bumbling against the earth that protruded with thick roots, knees and shoulders singing, straining to keep your weight. Your mouth opened in a silent gasp, stunned. Suddenly, pain sparked along your nerves in a fluid, chaotic motion, and the blood in your head went cold as you willed yourself to stand. 

Your muscles went numb and your vision swam as shock pulsed through your veins. The feet of your assailant brushed the forest floor, cracking leaves and twigs in his pursuit towards you. He was massive, a broad-shouldered broot. Bright blue eyes, crazed in predatory focus, cut through the grime smothered on the stranger’s face. You lifted an arm, the start of an attempt to shake the fear that began to vibrate on your skin, instead you wailed as your elbow flicked the wobbling shaft of an arrow that was lodged in your side. 

Your scream echoed along the grounds, the sound resonating throughout the property before pinging against the pointed shell of Kylo’s ears, catching his attention quicker than a hummingbird’s heart beats. Alarm burned against his chest and he evaporated into a cauldron of bats, fluttering in a viscous dark fog towards the woodlands of his estate, following the sound of your cries. 

“Where is he, princess? Where’s your monster?” The man stalked forward, one elbow tucked into his body, his grubby hand white knuckling a glimmering silver dagger. The other arm reached out towards you.

You whimpered, your breaths came quick as you tried to find your footing but the world swerved below you as you stumbled back, clutching your side heedfully with trembling hands. “I pray you’ll have the pleasure of his presence soon, I assure you.” 

Your scythe lay bare behind you, and with the strength your adrenaline mustered, you stooped backwards, following the direction of his pacing, and grasped the handle. Your arm swung without rhythm as you hunched, attempting to replicate the feral snarl your master wore so fashionably. “Stay back!”

The man didn’t respond. Instead, his lips curled in a tight line and his brow twisted inward in focus. He huffed in frustration, squaring his hips as he followed you, determined to hang to his wounded bait. You were a mere chore to his duty, surely. You shuffled along the orchard rows of the garden, keeping your distance. Your opponent’s eyes watched your face, your blade, your step, waiting for the fatal fumble of your feet. 

A deep pulsing noise, akin to a heavy flutter, filled your ears. You’re sure it’s the sound of your heart beating faster, harder, working overtime to keep you awake, to keep your eyes open but it grows louder and louder, closer too. You stumbled backwards, back hitting the thick trunk of a decaying tree. You blinked your eyes, two, three times, trying to fan away the fog that began to set over them. Your ribcage screamed for attention, deafening all of your other senses. You tried to make out the face of your assailant, you tried to face him with dwindling courage but your body grew weaker with each swing, each beat of your heart that pumped blood to damaged flesh.

It’s as if with each patient step the man takes towards you, the ebbing pain flowing throughout your side grew larger, wider, radiating throughout you. Your knees buckled underneath the immense, sharp pain. Your knife was flung from your hand. The sonic droning twacked against your eardrums, blanching your senses in a dissonant chorus of high frequencies. Your attacker’s mouth opened slowly with the raised tilt of his chin, elongating his fearful expression as his eyes grew wide. His eyes no longer watched you, but the swiftly imminent black nebula above you. The humming cloud revealed itself, manifesting in a foggy flocking mass. Your eyes swung close.

The man and the manifestation grunted, a mess of growls and huffs, punctuated finally with a pained and fearful wail. 

Silence.

The muffled patter of footsteps, and the creak of heavy leather boots.

You groaned softly as you sensed his presence and opened your eyes to see Kylo’s face, peering down at your crumpled form squirming in agony. His eyes are washed dark, not a measure of white about them, black inky strands of hair hang in front of his face, contrasting his pale skin. His lips were lightly flushed with the taint of blood that ooze from his mouth, coating the fine points of his fangs that poke against his bottom lip. Glory, like power, radiated off of him, his eternal and vengeful thirst for blood sated in his arrest. His chest heaved with exertion. You found yourself equally breathless.

You watched his lips form your name as he squatted down to cradle you. Despite the rage that surged through vacant veins, his contact towards you was meticulous, mindful of your injury. He moved with haste, dodging trees and tricks in the dirt, darting towards the entrance of his home. There, you’d be safe. There, he could fix this.

He called your name again as you writhed weakly in his arms. “Are you frightened?”

“No,” you wheezed, “not when I’m with you.”

Your vision faded, and the echoes of commands to his servants were distorted as your consciousness waverd. You swam in the sensation, stomach gurgling at your pain, hands perspiring against the cold flashes of a likely concussion. As you briefly came to, he was gently depositing you onto a plush cushion of a massive lounge. Your vision was bleary with exhaustion and tears, and the pain at your side was unrelenting as Kylo tore at the tight binding of your corset, ripping the seams. Rough, dry groans escaped you at his fumbling and you reached out for him, licking your lips. 

  
“Kylo,” your voice cracked, “it hurts.” 

“I know, little one,” he brushed the backs of his knuckles along your cheek. His heart twisted at your quivering breath and his brow furrowed as he examined your wound, angry and pulsing and dark red with coagulating blood. “It’s going to hurt some more.” He planted his hand on your abdomen, face hardening in preparation, and with a crack of lightning striking through the seams of your flesh, the world went black. 

So you awoke, drenched in sweat with a cool cloth laid across your brow bone. The air was still, the delicate sound of your breath was punctuated by the gentle crackle of a fire. Kylo sat between the decorated arms of his chair, feet planted square. His lips leaned against his hand as he watched you. Though his posture solemn, his stare was hot, itching with impatience. Your eyes blinked open as you breathed deeply, turning slightly to see Kylo fidgeting to keep his composure. The contours of his face shifting with the soft rippling glow of firelight. His eyes met yours.

“Little fig. Are you awake?”

You opened your mouth, and a cracked moan fell from parched lips. You tried to swallow, aggressively blinking away the thick film of unconsciousness and nodded wearily. 

Kylo slid out of his seat, stooping into a squat, at your aid. He slipped an arm around you, leaning you forward, and reached for a tea cup prepared for you at the side table. Your hand wrapped around his wrist and you drank feebly as the cup rested against your lips. The soft aroma of the tea leaves wafted around you, buffering your senses from the scent of iron and sweat, warm on your tongue like a fresh meal, heating you from the inside out.

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. My head hurts.”

Kylo quietly hummed, his eyes ticked, tracing your face, speckled with red uneven lines, the skin below them creased in exhaustion. One of his hands came up and stroked featherlight lines along your forearm that hung over the edge of the settee in avoidance. Your stomach flipped. When was the last time he was so close to you? So ginger? 

  
“Drink more, little fig,” He held the soothing cup of tea back up to your cracked, frail lips, allowing you to indulge in more of its warmth. “Tiny sips, that’s good.”

The timber of your master’s voice was warm, enticing, sending thrilling sparks through the marrow of your being. Your cheeks burned at the shiver that rushed through you. His lip twitched in amusement, watching the same helpless face eagerly accept the gentle attention of his hands. Your side’s pain was reduced to heat, a gentle throbbing, tightly wound in strips of linen, freckled with your blood.

With a final sip, bold eyes met Kylo’s. Trapped in his magnetic gaze, his eyes bore into yours, not searching but dwelling in the gratitude your expression yielded to, your polished etiquette abandoned in subservient vulnerability. His pupils winked, the kaleidoscope of honey and sandalwood irises expanding, flicking towards your lips as they pursed. 

Steady hand, he withdrew the cup, setting it back on the table, and took one of your hands into his own. Inspecting your fingers etched in paper-thin lines, black filth tucked into the tips of your nails. Your heart palpitated as his proximity, reveling in the perfume of his breath, the chill of his touch. Aroused by madness, his demeanour pulling the strings of your heart taut, you cleared your throat, grimacing at your hesitation.

“Who was he?... That man in the garden.” Your voice was gruff, unfamiliar. 

Kylo gently peeled the cloth from your forehead and immersed it in a basin of cooled water. 

“A fool,” he wrung the cloth as he spoke, and replaced it on your brow. Your eyes fluttered in relief. “A thief who made the inane attempt at taking what’s _mine_ to find me.” He wiped away a lone bead of water that departed from the cloth, slipping towards your eye.

_ What’s mine…  _ “Found you, he did.” 

Delight at your wit was veiled by the purse of his lips, and he squeezed your hand, bringing the other to stroke your wrist with his thumb. He felt your heart, heard it, felt the heat that flooded your chest, your cheeks, and the tips of your ears.  _ What a sweet sensation.  _ He shuddered, hindering what he could not understand with the grit of his will.

“As long as you are here there shall be no more  _ pathetic _ attempts on your life. Tell me you understand.”

“I-I understand.”


End file.
